A Rose's First Love
by spookygillovnyfangirl
Summary: It all starts with a photo.


A/N: Unbeta'd because I'm too shy to ask for one. Sorry.

* * *

The girl, who shouldn't be older than seven, skipped happily through the tall trees and wet grass. Dressed in old trousers covered in a thin layer of dirt and a pink tee-shirt, no one would think much of her. For any adult who passed by the park during that sunny afternoon, she was just a blonde little girl enjoying the wonders of being a child.

But Rose Tyler was more than just that. So, so much more.

Every night, after her mum kissed her forehead smelling of tea and vanilla, Rose would silently get up. Then, she'd open her bedroom window, and take a peek to the silent and empty streets of the Powell Estate.

After confirming that no person was out there, she'd finally direct her head upwards.

The stars, shining like precious jewels in the sky, fascinated her, along the Moon, doing its eternal dance around the Earth.

Rose's whiskey brown eyes reflected the own Moon's pale light every time she did this. Her head, unknowing of any worries the older people had, was free to simply dream and loose itself in its reveries.

And so she would dream awake for hours. Dream of adventures. Of her prince charming, someone who would take her hand in his, galloping along her across all the nebulae and burning stars out there.

And every night, her lips would curve into a smile as she promised herself that she would stay by his side, forever. Not even parallel dimensions would stop her from being with him.

Rose nodded to herself in approval, knowing that this was a universal truth. Even if she was young, she still knew that nothing, for much powerful that was, could stop true love from conquer it all.

"Huh? Wha's that?"

Rose stopped in front of a bush, an eyebrow arched in curiosity.

A square piece of paper, that upon further inspection seemed to be a photo, was swaying at the feel of the Summer breeze between some leaves.

Rose's small fingers seemed to be magnetically attracted to the object, for they immediately reached for it before she could understand what she was doing.

A smile bright as the Sun blossomed on her face when she saw who was on the photo.

It was a boy, maybe just a few years older than her. He seemed like he had just been shocked with a hundred volts, with his long chestnut hair sticking up in every direction. His chocolate brown eyes were hid behind a pair of specs, giving Rose the impression that he spent his days reading books or even tinkering with something, as evidenced by the screwdriver in his hand.

And his grin…

Rose giggled a bit, enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling in her belly, as if someone was tickling her with a feather.

His grin was maniac but friendly at the same time, splinting his face in half. She could see that his teeth were white as snow, and that his eyes had a special glint.

Rose grinned too, as if it was contagious.

Later, when she was a couple of years older, Rose would admit to herself that the stranger boy in the photograph was her first love.

But for now, she simply placed the photo in her pocket, promising that she would never, ever, lose it.

* * *

"What are doing?"

Rose Tyler, or better, Rose Tyler-Smith, turned around at the familiar sound of John's voice.

She smiled when she saw her husband, her real prince charming, standing with an even more smitten smile in his face.

Seven years later, and it still looked like they were the same lovesick teenagers they were a couple of years ago. Rose sometimes wondered how that was possible, how they still had the power to make each other's hearts skip a couple of beats every time they saw each other. Especially after four books written by them, plus their three years together as an official couple, and before that, their five years as simply best friends.

And no, Rose didn't even like to think how long it took them to finally get together (but if she were to blame someone, it would be John. He was the one who was as thick as Scotland's morning fog).

She extended her hand towards him, and when he took it, she pulled him in her direction.

"I was just going over my childhood memories." She patted the wooden chest in front of her, a fond smile adorning her face.

John sat behind her, placing his arms around her tummy, as he loved to do lately.

"Can I see it?" he asked.

Rose shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to think. "Oh, I don't know. You may not be ready for what you'll find here."

John rolled his eyes. "It can't be worst than the photos Jackie showed me."

Rose's eyes widened in horror, and she quickly turned around to look at him.

"You still remember that?!"

John seemed wounded at the loss of contact between him and her belly, so Rose turned around again. He quickly put again his arms around her, and placed his chin on top of her shoulder, exhaling in satisfaction.

"How could I forget?" Rose could actually hear the smirk in his voice. "Oooh, and the stories she told me along it, Rose Tyler!"

Rose covered her face, but not quickly enough for John not to see her blushing cheeks.

"I quite like that one where you begged for two weeks straight for that boy to be your boyfriend."

"I-I was only ten," she lamely said, as if it was some excuse.

"Really? I could swear that it's because you're related to Donna."

Rose awkwardly reached for his ribs, poking him. "Oi, mister, that was rude."

He hugged her closer, caressing her stomach. "Oh, but you love it."

"We both do," Rose stated, placing her hand on top of his.

They both fell silent for some moments, hoping that the small being growing inside her would make some signal that he was there, waiting for the right moment to finally reveal himself to the world.

"You know," Rose began after some moments, "we still have to decide what we're going to call him."

"I think Doctor is a really good name."

Rose playfully swatted his hand. "Silly, we're not going to name our child after the character from our books."

"Please?" he pouted, making his best puppy eyes at her.

"Nuh-huh."

"Could we at least take him to Barcelona then? I'm sure he would love it," he stated, an affectionate smile in his face as he looked at her belly.

Rose looked through the corner of her eye at John, and seeing his face, her heart melted and turned into a pile of goo at her feet.

"Sure, why not," she conceded, unable to say no to him.

A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she inquired, "By the way, who's gonna write the kissing scene between the Doctor and Rosalind?"

"You. You're the one who's good at writing the tongue kissing scenes. I'm good with the action and adventure thingy, remember?"

Rose smiled, her own tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth. "Well, thank God then that in real life you're good with your tongue. It'd be a shame if we had to break up because you were a bad kisser."

He pouted (again).

"Roooooooose…" he whined, and she momentarily wondered if he was  
actually a five year-old in disguise.

"It's true!" Although it wasn't. She was sure that, even if he happened to be a bad kisser (and consequently ruined their first kiss ever, after they had spent six months apart), she would have loved him anyway.

John though, unbeknown of her thoughts, immediately moved his hands to her hips, his fingers ready to tickle her. "Take back what you just said," he menaced, a mischievous glint burning in his chocolate eyes.

"Never!"

In a blink of an eye, Rose found herself being gently pinned to the sofa, trapped between John's thighs.

"Last chance, Rose Tyler."

She simply grinned coyly, ignoring him. "Imagine what would have happened if, after all that time, we reunited on a deserted beach just to—JOHN!"

She began to laugh maniacally as John's long fingers tickled her sides, leaving her breathless in a couple of seconds.

"John…Stop it!" she pleaded between breaths, trying in vain to squirm from his grasp.

"One one condition," he said, coming to a stop.

Rose nodded eagerly, taking deep breaths of air.

"Say that I, John Smith, am the best kisser in this galaxy. Scratch that, this universe. And while we're at it, it wouldn't hurt if you also said that I'm the foxiest man you have ever seen." He waggled his eyebrows comically, making Rose giggle.

"C'mon, that's utterly-" John placed his hands on her hips, and even though he wasn't ticking her, she felt the beginning of a laugh emanating from the depths of her throat.

"You were saying…?"

Rose sighed, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she coached her lips into a smile.

"You, John Smith," she started to say, putting her arms around his neck, "are the best kisser in the whole of time and space. And, since I can say you have a pretty good bum and really great hair, I consider you the foxiest man I've ever seen."

John smiled charmingly at her. "Why, Rose Tyler, if I didn't know better, I'd think someone made you say that."

She playfully swatted his arm, before raising her neck so she could give him a chaste kiss on the lips. "You know what, you may be also the silliest man ever, but I love you."

His beam was as bright as a supernova. "Yeah?"

"Yes," she said, mirroring his expression.

His lips were on hers, soft and undemanding, kissing her with such gentleness that made her feel as if he believed she could break any second.

"I love you too," he confessed, warm chocolate eyes staring into amber ones.

The smile she gave him could have killed him from happiness.

"So," she began some moments later, looking at a spot behind his back, "want to have a look at my box?"

"You'll let me?"

"Sure."

And just like that, his presence over her vanished, the only remnants of him being his spicy smell, tangled with the jasmine of her perfume.

She sat with her back leaning on the arm of the sofa, looking curiously at her husband.

John quickly gave a look over the contents of the blue box, his eyes devouring every detail like a lost man in the desert drinks water.

Rose rolled her eyes as he sniffed and even licked some mementos, such as some dry leaves she had collected when she was younger, or the Valentine's day card someone had offered her in year four.

Then, suddenly has he had begun, he stopped.

"Rose?" he asked, and the trembling in his voice felt like a dead weight being settled in her heart.

"Yes?"

With trembling hands, he picked up what seemed to be an old photo.

"Where did you get this?" he inquired, changing his tone of voice to one of wonder.

Rose observed that he seemed a little off, but when her eyes turned to the little boy in the photo, she couldn't help but smile.

"That's…" She took the photo off his hands, laughing a bit. Forgotten was the odd way John was acting, and replacing it was a nostalgic happiness. "I didn't even know I still had this…."

"Rose? Where did you get the photo?"

His insistence brought her back to the present, and she raised an eyebrow in perplex.

"When I was little. I found it in the park near my old house in the Estates." She gave him back the photo. "It's funny, that little boy was my first love."

John looked up to her, breaking into a full face grin. "Really?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Because, Rose," he took her hands in his, squeezing them gently, "I lost that photo when I was twelve years-old."

Rose's brown orbs stared confusingly at him for a few moments, before they widened as she realised what he was trying to say. "Wait, but that means…"

John Smith didn't believe in destiny. Nor in magic, the occult, the supernatural, whatever you wanted to call it. But if there was one thing he believed in, it was Rose, his Rose. And somehow, after all this years, she had found a way back to him.

With a loving smile he said, "Rose, the boy in the photo is me."


End file.
